On the Steps of the Palace
by darthsydious
Summary: Prompt fill: John in disguise as a Palace Guardsman. John and Sherlock are working undercover for Mycroft. Matilda misses her father. AU John/Molly


"Is daddy ever coming home?" Matilda asked one night. Molly sat back from tucking her in, surprised.

"What makes you think he isn't home?" The little girl shrugged, playing with the ear of her stuffed bear.

"I never see him anymore." Molly crawled up beside her, drawing her near. "His chair doesn't look sat in. He hasn't read me stories in such a long time...did I do something wrong?"

"Oh baby, no, no you haven't." she kissed Matilda's cheeks, wiping her tears away. "He isn't gone, he's been working very hard on a case with Uncle Sherlock, he comes home very late, you're fast asleep by the time he gets in, and he must leave before you're up for school. He misses you dreadfully," Molly pressed a kiss to her forehead, sighing a little. "Would you feel better if I told you that every night when he gets in, he sits with you, he tells you all about what he's learning for the case."

"He does?" Matilda asked, surprised.

"He does," her mother confirmed.

That night, Molly waited up for John. He got in at the usual time, around three or so. Haggard and drawn, he dropped his gear by the door, wincing at the noise it made.

"It's alright, she's asleep," Molly said. John smiled, relieved, seeing her in her chair. Tired, he held out his arms to her and she went to him.

"You smell good," he murmured into her shoulder. He wanted to cry he was so exhausted. He missed his wife, he missed his child. She combed her fingers through his short hair, squeezing the back of his neck.

"Matilda misses you." He sniffled then, pulling away to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I miss her too, I miss you, miss my chair…miss sleeping next to you."

"I know," gently she kissed his nose, his forehead, his cheeks and eyelids. "Come on, are you hungry or tired?"

"Both."

"Food first," she said and guided him to his chair. "I'll bring it to you."

When she came back with a plate, she found that he'd left his chair. From Matilda's room she could hear John speaking quietly. Setting the plate down, Molly headed down the hallway.

"Marching's the easiest part," he said quietly. "Crash course in guard duties isn't any big thing…you should see Uncle Sherlock though, he marches a bit like a duck." he chuckled. "I've been given my post. Start very soon now, and if everything goes right…" he trailed off and he bowed his head, sighing. He rubbed his face, trying to school his emotions. "If everything goes right…if I don't fail-" another gasping sigh, and Molly entered the room, sitting at his feet. His arm went around her as he covered his eyes with his free hand. "God Molls…if everything goes right…we have to get it right…we _have_ to." She let him cry, not saying anything, knowing he needed the release. When he finished he got to his feet, kissing Matilda, smoothing her hair. He turned, Molly was still sitting on the floor. Holding out his hands, he helped her up. "Come to bed,"

"It's very late, you haven't slept at all," she cautioned, her voice soft.

"I don't sleep much lately," he shrugged and kissed her gently. "Come to bed."

~O~

The end of that week, Molly showed up at Matilda's school.

"Matilda," her teacher waved the little girl over. "Your mummy is here to take you on a special appointment, you may collect your things." Matilda had only ever received such a message once before, and she'd gotten to go to Uncle Mycroft's special underground office for a visit. Grabbing her book bag, she bid her teacher goodbye, grasping her mother's hand. Outside, one of Uncle Mycroft's shiny black cars was waiting by the curb. The driver helped them in, shutting the door behind them.

"Are we going to the special office today?" Matilda asked. Molly felt her heart lurch at that particular memory. The awful terrorist threat, being rushed from the morgue, Anthea texting her that she had Matilda with her and they were heading to an underground bunker. All Matilda remembered was that she got to play underneath the big war-room table, she'd only been four at the time, much too young to remember the fear and apprehension, all of them teetering on the brink of panic. Molly put on a smile.

"How would you like to see daddy today?"

"Where is he?!"

"He's working on a case," Molly cautioned. "He won't be able to say hello, or smile, or even look, but I'll take a picture of you two."

"What's he doing?" Matilda asked. The car turned, passing through Trafalgar Square. She leaned forward, looking through the open privacy glass, suddenly noticing Uncle Mycroft's car bore flags at the front, flags that belonged to the Queen.

John had just marched from the barracks, to Buckingham, to St. James Palace. His post was situated at the front entrance. It was the most exposed to the public, and it pissed him off. However, there was a reason he'd been appointed this particular post, so he tried not to mind the tourists. He was good at following orders, staring straight ahead, not moving. A black car came into his line of vision as he rotated the gun from one shoulder to the other. Stamping one foot, then the other, he sloped his arms and marched forward fifteen paces, swiveled and returned to post, then crossed his sentry post again. Twice more and he passed his post until he completed the turn. Relaxing his shoulders he stood at ease.

"Go stand beside him," he heard a woman say. It took all of his strength not to look directly at Molly. He heard little footsteps across the cobblestones. His chin up, he looked down his nose, looking just beyond Molly. She held a camera, directing it at him. He didn't dare look. If he had, he might've seen her bite her lip, fighting back the broadest, proudest smile, her eyes shining in delight at her husband.

Suddenly, little fingers slipped into his gloved hand. Little fingers he hadn't held or kissed in such a very long time.

"Smile now, Tilly," Molly said. He felt Matilda lean against his arm. Without moving, without looking or blinking, he curled his hand around her's, tucking his thumb into his fist to reach her fingers. Her weight against his arm was slight, and he lifted his chin the barest amount. He felt her press her lips to his coat-sleeve.

"Come home soon Daddy," she whispered, the wind almost carrying away her words. He did not answer her, did not blink. He squeezed her hand once more and slowly, slowly relaxed his fingers again.

Molly held out her hand to Matilda who scurried to her mother. They ducked into the car again, and in a few moments, it sped away.

Thirty minutes later, three more rounds of marching up and down his sentry box, Mycroft appeared. He opened a newspaper, the pretense of reading it while he waited for his car to come around.

"Anthea informs me they are safe away," Mycroft murmured behind the paper. Casually, he flipped through the pages, quirking a brow. "Once finished here, you will march back with your guardsman, and a car will bring you to the bunker." John stood to attention, stamping one foot and then the other. He turned his head sharply to Mycroft, rotating the gun from one shoulder to the other. Mycroft knew he was in the way of his path. Just before he stepped aside, he saw John meet his gaze. There was strength in the good doctor's eyes, strength and fear of loss. The car pulled up as John made his second pass by the sentry box. "They are safe." Mycroft might have been speaking to the driver, or his PA who waited inside the car. John felt a tightening in his chest as he counted out fifteen paces again before stopping at the box, stamping one foot and then the other before standing at ease. Tonight, if everything went right, he would see his family.


End file.
